


Confessions

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Anniversary, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Painplay, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The day the war ended, Sylvain stole Felix’s heart.Felix knows it’s a lie, but it makes the pill easier to swallow. Sylvain professed his love, Felix kissed him, and they were married that day, still in their armor, blood dripping on the chapel floor.Three years into their marriage, Felix struggles with confessions.(reuploaded)
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware this fic uses the words “cunt” and “clit” in reference to Felix’s genitals.

The day the war ended, Sylvain stole Felix’s heart.

Felix knows it’s a lie, but it makes the pill easier to swallow. Sylvain professed his love, Felix kissed him, and they were married that day, still in their armor, blood dripping on the chapel floor. 

And when Felix wakes up exactly three years later to the day, Sylvain at his back, cock wedged against his ass, Felix doesn’t complain.

Three years ago, he and Sylvain took their first step toward this very moment.

(That’s a lie, too.)

“Morning, love.” Sylvain parts Felix’s hair with his nose and whispers, “Now?”

Felix can’t reply, not out loud. Even now, even though they’re _married_ , even though they’re still naked from last night, his tongue catches in his mouth. But he nods, and when Sylvain coils his arms around him, tingling anticipation shuts out lingering shame over his silence. 

This is a path Sylvain knows well, but today, he takes his time exploring it, kneading and massaging every muscle his fingers grace. Seven years changed Felix, and his body is no exception—he and Sylvain really must be growing old together if mere sleeping twists him this tight, but the knots unfurl under Sylvain’s warm hands. 

Heat follows as Sylvain tracks higher, up Felix’s ribs to his chest, and Felix sucks in a breath. Sylvain cups his breasts and Felix lets go. 

Sylvain starts gently: squeezing, stroking, teasing. It tickles when he traces the seams beneath, but the giggle never comes. Just a shiver, a shuddering breath of pleasure. Like the rising sun just starting to stream in through the window, Sylvain edges higher, over the subtle swell of Felix’s bosom. They feel even smaller in Sylvain’s large hands, in his loose grip. Felix fights the urge to hold his sighs in, but soon he won’t have a choice, because once Sylvain touches his nipples, he’ll—

“Ah!”

The first, tender brush of sensitive skin jolts his body tight. It’s always like this, and Sylvain loves it. He circles his thumbs over the tips, coaxing Felix’s nipples harder and harder, making him sigh louder and longer.

Felix arches into him, into his cock. He shifts until it slides between his legs, heat to heat. Sylvain drops his lips to Felix’s shoulder, kissing and nipping his skin. It’s a game: Sylvain wants Felix to talk, but Felix wants to keep him talking. He jerks his shoulder forward.

“Harder?” Sylvain offers, and he pinches both of Felix’s nipples tight without waiting for an answer, bites his shoulder deep enough to leave marks. It’s good, so good Felix makes an obscene sound, but no words come out.

Sylvain moans, low and throaty against his neck. It almost hurts, teeth and tension, just like Felix likes. He grinds back on Sylvain’s cock, slicker at his whims. Only Sylvain knows what he wants, only Sylvain can keep him on the edge of too much, only Sylvain can love him like he needs, without Felix asking.

“Felix, you’re so—” The ridge of Sylvain’s cock catches below Felix’s clit and they react in tandem, bodies synchronized from years of fighting and fucking together. How easily their lips meet, no matter the angle, in shared moans and breaths. Every slide of their tongues gets Felix wetter, especially when Sylvain is still punishing his nipples in the best way. 

It’s always overwhelming, how much Felix loves him—maybe that’s why he leans so hard on the physical, on the burn of Sylvain’s fingers on his chest, on the sweat collecting between them, the scrape of his nails on Sylvain’s thighs. If he can push even a tenth of his love through those connections, then maybe Sylvain will know, maybe he’ll understand...

Felix darts a hand between his legs to press Sylvain’s cock flush against him. Liquid pools at his fingertips—fuck, it’s happening fast—and he runs them up and down Sylvain’s shaft, coating him. Sylvain gasps into Felix’s neck and thrusts against him, almost slipping inside as he sucks colors into Felix’s skin. 

But they both know that’s not where Felix wants him. 

Felix rubs Sylvain's cock against his clit once—twice—more, biting down on his lip, then arches his back to present Sylvain with a different angle. 

Sylvain’s shuddering breath hits Felix’s ear and Felix twists back to capture it. The longer he can keep Sylvain’s mouth busy, the better—he confesses with every word and Felix can’t keep up, but kissing? That’s something Felix can do.

Freedom hits his nipples like ice, relief and agony crashing over him as Sylvain spreads his ass. The head of his cock pushes hot against Felix’s rim, wet with precome and Felix’s arousal. He needs Sylvain inside him, stretching him too wide, until he’s impossibly full because he likes pain here, too, and Sylvain knows just how much. 

“Love you,” Sylvain whispers, swiping his thumb over Felix’s rim, dipping in. Felix hisses, more from the confession than the pain. He steals a biting kiss and Sylvain pushes in.

The first time, their wedding night like some kind of wonderful cliche, Sylvain was too gentle, too careful. That night, Felix convinced him without words, eyes locked on his and nails digging into his back: _I need to feel it, Sylvain. I need to feel you._

Today, it stings, because Sylvain understands. Felix wants Sylvain to change him every time, to mold him into something new, something  _ his.  _ It aches a moment before Felix’s body remembers, taking Sylvain like only he can: half at once, then a kiss, then to the hilt. Sylvain bites his ear, and physical pain is easier to take than words that Felix still can’t give or receive like Sylvain. 

But they don’t need words. Sylvain coils one arm around Felix, flattens it against his stomach. The other squeezes his hip, and Felix covers both hands with his own. 

Sylvain starts to move in slow, firm strokes, crushing Felix against himself with every thrust. Felix threads their fingers together, digs his love in, too, and meets his pace. Anywhere Sylvain fills him is good—great when he fills more than one hole at once—but this will always be his favorite. Sylvain’s too; his cock throbs in Felix, vital, like a heartbeat. Felix doesn’t feel him like that anywhere else, and nothing else renders Sylvain speechless. 

Their bodies move faster, automatic, skin slapping harder and wetter. Felix is wetter, too, soaked down to his ass and all over his thighs. Sylvain slips a hand down his stomach and into the slick mess, rubbing Felix’s cunt in rough strokes right on beat. How does he always know what Felix craves? How do they always want the same thing?

He grazes Felix’s clit and Felix bites his tongue. This isn’t kissing—it’s pure connection, raw like the slap of Sylvain’s hips on his ass. All Felix knows is being full, Sylvain hitting ridges deep inside, and fuck—pinching his clit as rough as Felix can take. Some primal noise tears out of Felix, and he tries to fuck Sylvain’s mouth with his tongue. They’re so close—his fingers fly to his nipples, wringing them even tighter than Sylvan. 

“ _Fel—”_ Sylvain gasps half his name against his mouth and he’s coming, shooting pulse after hot pulse deep inside Felix. Felix tries to count them _—seven, eight, nine—_ but knowing that touching himself is what put Sylvain over the edge takes him down.

Felix comes too, ass and cunt spasming around Sylvain’s cock and fingers—they slipped in so easily Felix barely felt them, but they’re unignorable now that he’s tensing around them. Pleasure overtakes Felix and words finally spill out: “I love you, I need you, you’re mine.”  They need to be touching; Felix needs that pressure with his professions, until his body draws everything it can from Sylvain’s. 

In the afterglow, it’s crystal clear—this started long before the war, and Felix has been in love with Sylvain longer than he can remember. Their bond runs deeper than flesh, and Felix falls silent to let the waves ebb. 

Sylvain kisses his cheek, sloppy. “Happy anniversary.”

Felix could cringe. He could grouse about Sylvain being too sentimental or about how he just licked Felix’s cheek. But he just leans back against his husband, full and fucked out. 

It’s their anniversary, and just this once, Sylvain can have the last word. 

  



End file.
